Time Passages
by avalondaughter
Summary: A look at the married life of Jane and Rochester through Jane's eyes in 1845 and also through the eyes of her great-great-great-great granddaughter, Sarah Jane Rochester in 2012. Chapters alternate viewpoints.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Although this is a fanfiction for Jane Eyre only, it pays homage to Tom Stoppard's play Arcadia. It explores the connections between the past and the present and the scenes take place mostly in the same room, but in different time periods. It also explores the themes of how a time period in history might affect attitudes and even decor and architecture. Most importantly, the main theme is how the knowledge of the past is never lost._

_This story takes place after the events of the novel, but it is based on strictly canonical past events. There are none of my crazy AU ideas here_.

**Chapter 1 - 1845**

The library of the new Thornfield had come to be the most loved room in the house. Imposing windows reached almost to the ceilings, letting in so much light that the room seemed bright and sunny even on the cloudiest days. Window seats beneath them allowed for one to sit and enjoy the views of the garden. If one wished to wander into the garden instead of watching it from the inside, a set of French doors led directly to it.

The contents of the library were quite skimpy at the moment. So much of Thornfield had been destroyed in the fire eight years earlier. We had cases lining the walls that had yet to be filled with books. There was little in the way of art on the walls or cabinets full of curios. We had chairs by the fire and a desk in one corner, and it was quite comfortable for entertaining guests for tea or dealing with business matters, but as a reading room, it fell quite short.

Our most-used piece of furniture was a large table in the center of the room. As Edward and I often needed to work together (reading and writing were difficult for him, so I often had to handle his business correspondence and accounts), we found that it was easier to sit side-by-side at a large table. It meant we could be joined by anyone who wished to work with us as well. Many casual family meetings were conducted around this grand centerpiece.

It was a splendid spring day and Edward and I seemed to be the only occupants of the house. Everyone else was out enjoying the gardens. I was anxious as I was anticipating Adele's return from school that day. I had also just received a letter from Mary and felt the eager for the news of friends in Morton.

"So what does Mary have to say for herself today," Edward asked. "What's the Morton gossip?"

Mary and her husband, Charles Wharton, had settled in Morton and were living at Moor House. Charles was a clergyman friend of St. John Rivers and had taken his post when St. John left for India.

"Did you know Charles is the eldest of five brothers?" I asked.

"I do believe you have said something about it," Edward replied.

"His two youngest brothers were visiting them recently. It seems they are not all as well-grounded as their brother. They had their hands full with such mischievous young scamps."

"How old are the boys?" Edward asked.

"I believe the youngest is twenty. The next youngest is twenty-three. Neither are married yet and they seem to want to be perpetual boys. These young men love pranks and pratfalls for sure. I do understand young Finley is quite bright with a head for numbers if he could only keep himself out of trouble."

I continued to read the letter. "I have some other news. Rosamond Granby has had a baby girl - Olivia Rose Granby. I'm so happy for them. Rosamond and Freddy have waited so long to finally have a child."

Edward could not see my face very well, but he could always read my heart. He knew my thoughts that I could not speak aloud. There was a certain sadness I felt as I read about Rosamond's newfound joy.

"Jane, I know you are happy for your friend, but I sense you are not thinking just of her."

"No, I suppose I am not," I said.

He reached over and gently placed his arm around me. "I know you can't help thinking of Teddy."

"It's hard not to. I really am happy for Rosamond, but it does drive home my own losses."

As if they had been prompted to bring me some cheer and remind me of the good fortune I still have, Sophie came through the french doors from the garden with St. John. A highly energetic boy, he broke from Sophie's grasp on his hand and bounded to the library table as soon as he saw us sitting there.

"Mama! Papa!" he exclaimed. "Look what I have found." He held in his hands something that appeared to be remnant of a piece of carved wood. Surely it was an artifact from the original Thornfield. St. John had an eye for curiosities and was always plucking things from the garden and grounds that others had missed for years.

Edward took the piece from his son and held it in his good hand, examining it with his limited eyesight. St. John Climbed onto my knee and put his arms around my neck. "This may be a piece of the bannister of the main staircase," Edward declared. "Or it may be a from the old cabinet in the great hall. Nice work, St. John." He patted his son's head.

St. John shrunk away slightly from his father. It was a sad fact that Edward could give a rather intimidating appearance to the young and the impressionable. He had always had a strong stern presence and a proud bearing. Since the fire his appearance was even more shocking. When he went out he covered his scarred, missing eye with a black patch. He also had a prosthetic hand made of wood that he wore in the company of others, which he covered with a black glove. I often joked that he looked like the kind of men I feared would snatch me away when I was a child. He teased me that I spent too much time reading fairy stories. Edward had not always been at ease showing tenderness toward children, which didn't help in St. John's earlier years, although he had grown much better at it.

"Is Adele coming soon," St. John asked.

"I hope she will be here before tea time," I replied. "Speaking of tea time, it is time you cleaned up a bit so you can be respectable enough to sit down to tea. Go with Sophie now and ready yourself."

"Yes, Mama," he said and climbed off my knee.

"If we are to have tea here in the library, I suggest you put this paperwork away," Edward reminded me.

"Yes, you're right. I must save this letter."

Since Thornfield was rebuilt, I had become obsessive in making sure no part of its story was lost. The old Thornfield and all that went with it was almost completely gone. I wanted to save any piece of it I could. I also wanted to make sure that nothing of our family story was lost. Letters were saved and stored in boxes, as were all of my sketches and paintings, St. John's findings, and all other household records. I wanted to future inhabitants of Thornfield to know its story. I did not want to lose our home to time.

As I began to tidy the table for tea, the French doors swung open revealing Adele. "Madame and Monsieur Rochester!" she exclaimed. She ran to me and embraced me. She sedately went to Edward and kissed his cheek. "I hope I am in time for tea."

At sixteen Adele had grown to a lovely young woman. She had almost lost her French accent and while not entirely like an English lady in her habits and temperament, she was much improved from the vain and flighty child she had been. She had been away at school, but Edward and I allowed her to spend her summers with us at Thornfield. I liked having her as a companion and St. John adored her.

"You are just in time, Adele," I told her. "I'll have John take your trunk to your room." I rang for John.

"Where is Sophie?" she asked.

"She took St. John to clean up for tea. You know how he gets into things in the garden."

After St. John's birth I had embarked on a quest to find Sophie again. She had been a good nurse to Adele and I had felt sorry for her as she had lost her position rather abruptly when Edward had sent Adele off to school. Fortunately she had not been difficult to trace and she was more than happy to be in the Rochester employ once again. It thrilled Adele to no end that she could see her former nurse again when she came to visit us.

Adele asked to be excused to go to her room and prepare for tea. Edward and I were alone once more.

Edward put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulders. "My little archivist. We have much good fortune to chronicle."

"Yes," I agreed. "May it live on."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - 2012**

I always loved the library of Thornfield most out of all of the rooms of the house. I loved to sit in the window seat and sketch. The light was always good there and the room was filled with objects to draw if I ran out of ideas in my head or human models.

The library was crammed with books and boxes and portfolios. Portraits of all sorts covered the walls. We had a few curio cabinets filled with various objects my great-great-great grandfather, famed archeologist Sir St. John Rochester, had collected. Much of what we had in the house was not valuable. His greatest finds were scattered in museums throughout the world. I was told that some of his findings we had in the house belonged to the original Thornfield, the former ancestral home of the Rochesters that had burned down over a century ago. Our current home was what had replaced it.

At eighteen I had never had much interest in the history of my home. I was an art student who preferred the galleries and museums of London to the environs of a country manor. I knew that at one time the Rochesters owned much more property and the village nearby. It was said we once had holdings in France and further out in the countryside, and even in places as far off as the West Indies and Madeira. How I wished we still owned it all, so I had access to it. Living in Thornfield my entire life, I was sometimes tired of my limited world and wished to see what was beyond it. I wanted to be a part of something larger.

I knew we were better off than many of the British gentry. We still owned Thornfield. Mum said we should be grateful that we have yet to have to turn it into a bed and breakfast, or surrender it to the National Trust so American tourists could gawk at us and ask us silly questions about life among the nobility. Mum gave credit to the fact that none of my grandparents or great-grandparents, "were content to be members of the leisure class," and of course my ancestor's notoriety hadn't hurt us either. I joked we simply had never been wealthy enough to have enough to lose. Thornfield was not so large or so grand as any nobleman's estate.

We did still have people stay with us from time to time. Biographers and historians often came in hopes of learning more about St. John's story, or the local history. Currently we had an American architectural and history graduate student staying with us.

His name was Ben. I rarely spoke to him. He looked like a bit of a nerd although sometimes I found him oddly attractive. He was a young man of middle height, rather slim, with a shock of wavy light brown hair that fell over his forehead towards his wire-rimmed glasses (which framed a rather nice pair of hazel eyes). The glasses sat upon a rather prominent nose, which looked distinctive rather than disfiguring. Said nose was always in a book. It seemed he spent all day within the library archives, or walking through the countryside, taking copious notes and photographs. He took little interest in me or my family. He was never rude, but he wasn't talkative or particularly friendly. I suppose I didn't mind having him around although there were times I wished I could have the library to myself.

I had been sitting in the window seat sketching for an hour when I started feeling thirsty. Ben was sitting at the table in the center of the room, poring over old books and journals and I walked by him on my way to the kitchen. Something caught my eye. There was a large drawing of a huge old mansion. I gasped and grabbed it without thinking.

"Careful with that Sarah. It's old," Ben said flatly.

I examined the drawing and realized there was something familiar about it. I recognized the countryside depicted somehow. "Is this the old Thornfield?" I asked.

"Yes it is," Ben replied. "I'm surprised you don't know that. It must have been drawn from memory after the fire. It's dated 1838."

"Why have we never displayed this?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe it was too sad to think about how it burned down."

"I suppose." I admired the quality of the drawing. It was fine work for something drawn from memory. There were no clues about where the picture had come from. There was simply a signature at the bottom of the picture, "J. Rochester 1838."

There were several other drawings on the table. Most of these were landscapes. I recognized some of them as being of the Thornfield gardens, although many changes had been made throughout the years. I laughed at one picture that showed a small boy surrounded by blooming bushes. Someone had titled it. "St. John's Fairy Bower" was written across the top. I realized I recognized the small boy as Sir St. John. A portrait hung in the great hall of him as a young boy with his mother. I sometimes saw bits of myself in the face of my great-great-great-great grandmother. She gave me her stick-straight mousy hair and green eyes. When I looked at photos of the adult St. John and his wife Olivia, I am quite grateful to them for improving the Rochester gene pool. My great-great-great grandmother was a beautiful woman - far more so than her husband or her mother-in-law.

"Fairy bower," I laughed to Ben. "I suppose that's what it must have felt like to that little boy."

"The garden was a product of its time, so was this house." I didn't realize that I had just set Ben up to lecture and educate me. I hadn't meant to be rude, but I think I might have rolled my eyes, which he ignored and continued.

"Thornfield was definitely built in an era of romantic imagination. Everything about this house screams 'Victorian'. Those gardens were meant to be a fairy bower because the Enlightenment was over and people were back to believing in fairies. We went from reason to romance. We went from Greek Revival architecture to gingerbread. "

"What about the old Thornfield?" I asked.

"That was an even earlier time," he replied. He pointed to the towers on the drawing. "Look at these battlements I believe there was a time when the owners felt this property needed to be defended against attack."

"That sounds a bit imaginative to me as well. It's not exactly Greek Revival."

He agreed with me. "Very good point, but the old manor house was much older than that. I can't tell how old this house is just from this drawing. It may have served legitimately as a point of defense at one time. The landowner was seen as the protector of the neighborhood once."

"I don't think that was the issue when this house was built. Maybe I'm being silly, but sometimes I think this Thornfield was built just to house happiness."

I don't know what made me say that. I tended to possess an artist's cynicism alongside my artist's imagination. Deep down, despite my wanderlust and my skepticism, I knew that's how I always felt about Thornfield. Sometimes I felt this aura of love and contentment seeping through its walls. When the sun came through the library windows illuminating the gardens and the room's occupants in just such a way, I would feel so at peace, as if my home were embracing me.

Ben laughed. "Now there is romantic imagination for you. I suppose twenty-first century girls get it from all of those Jane Austen books you read."

"We're so over Jane Austen, " I protested. "That's just the Americans who won't stop obsessing." I had no idea if this was true or not. I had never read Jane Austen, I'm only slightly ashamed to admit.

"But think of 19th century literature," he said. "Right alongside the drug-induced fairy paintings and the gingerbread houses, you had novels about governesses and orphans marrying above their station."

"My great-great-great-great grandmother was a governess who married well," I protested.

At this point Mum walked into the room. "Sarah Jane," she reprimanded. "You aren't believing and repeating those daft stories again. Your ancestor was an heiress from Madeira." She changed the subject. "I brought you two some drinks. I thought you might need refreshment." She put the tray with a pitcher of cold water and glasses on the table.

I swear Mum can read my mind sometimes. "Thanks. I was just on my way to the kitchen for a drink. Then I changed the subject.

"Mum," I protested. "There isn't any more proof of her being from Madeira than there is of her being a governess. How can you say the governess stories aren't true?"

"Because they're silly," she answered, echoing what Ben had said just a few minutes prior. "Those kinds of stories are best left for romance novels" Now she changed the subject. "What kind of seriousness do you expect of a girl who dyes her hair that color though?"

A month ago I had contracted an eye infection that kept me from wearing my contact lenses. I had purchased a pair of fun glasses in bright burgundy to make having to wear them more bearable. I decided I liked them and began wearing them more frequently. Then I dyed my hair to match.

Dyeing my hair had been the most outrageous act I had ever committed. Mum should be happy that I hadn't gone to the extremes to look different the way many of my art school mates did. I had no piercings in odd places or any tattoos. Wearing the odd vintage clothing or accessory and having burgundy hair and glasses was about as ballsy as I could be. I had a strange fear of anything that was permanent. It was as if I somehow never believed in permanence. I could never do anything to myself that wouldn't go away, because I thought I could never deal with things that stayed put. I suppose as an aspiring artist it was just my own desire to be immortal through my work and fearing that I never would be. My hair could change. I could go back to my regular mousy brown tomorrow - or go platinum blonde. Nothing had to be forever.

"Enjoy your afternoon," Mum said and retreated. There was no more arguing with her about my hair or about the mother of Sir St. John Rochester (who looked perfectly English in her portrait). With a resigned sigh I sat on the table (a habit I knew annoyed Mum to no end as the table, while sturdy, was an antique and original to the house) and grabbed a glass. Ben let out a slightly pissy sigh as I was getting in the way of his work.

"Sorry," I muttered. "Do you want me to pour you some?" I moved off the table and sat on a chair properly.

"No thanks," he said.

I began to think about everything I had just seen and heard in the past few minutes. Why had I never considered much of my family history? Why hadn't I wondered about my ancestors prior to Sir St. John. I longed to see the world, but never knew what secrets might be buried in my own small sphere.

"I think Mum is wrong. I think there are more stories to be told," I said to no one in particular, although I guess I hoped Ben might agree with me.

"Why don't you actually explore what's in this library?" Ben asked.

"I suppose I should. I always assumed everything in here would be terribly dull."

"You already seem fascinated by that drawing of the old Thornfield. There is plenty more where that came from."

"You're right," I said. "I want to start by knowing who those early Rochesters are who made that drawing. I want to know who my great-great-great-great grandmother was."

Ben seemed to have an answer for everything. "Why don't you find an old Bible?"

"A Bible?"

"People used to fill out their family tree in the Bible. Might not be a bad place to look."

I jumped up from my chair and began perusing the massive shelves that lined the library wall. Ben seemed amused by my search.

"I'll help you. I can probably find it more easily Ironic that you're the one that has lived her all of you life but I know what's on these shelves better than you do."

I felt he might be making fun of me a bit, so I ignored the comment, but I did not stop him from helping me in my search. I was also not surprised when not more than five minutes later he pulled an ancient Bible off of a shelf.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - 1845**

Merry days had come to Thornfield that summer. Diana and Mary came for our annual visit along with their husbands. Not only did Diana and Mary come with their husbands, sons, and daughters, but Charles Wharton brought his youngest brother Finley with him as well. With Adele, St. John, Finley, Mary's sons Charles, John, and Henry, and Diana's daughter Maria and son Thomas, we had our hands full. The young folks were constantly off on adventures. Adele and Finley were forever taking the younger children to the gardens and they would return with their pockets full of stones, toads, and twigs along with faces full of dirt.

Having so much of my family around me helped me deal with the loss Edward and I had experienced during the winter. We enjoyed hearing more of the Morton gossip from Mary and Charles. Diana and her husband Thomas told us stirring stories of both their life in Portsmouth as well as Captain Fitzjames' adventures at sea. The children loved hearing stories of the places he had been. He often brought gifts from afar for his many nieces and nephews. Sometimes it made life at Thornfield seem a little dull. I had always had that restlessness in my nature and an occasional resistance to contentment. Those feelings would disappear though when I would look at Edward and how much I loved our life together.

One afternoon Edward and I were walking through the gardens as we watched the children frolic among the flowers. St. John had a favorite spot against a garden wall where he could almost tuck himself away inside the bushes. We called it his "fairy bower" and I teased him that he should never stay there after dark for the fairies could snatch him away. Edward warned me that I should be careful about scaring him with fanciful tales, or at the very least make him believe too much in such stories. Even Adele, who always seemed to possess a certain cynicism, would say that perhaps St. John's imagination was too over stimulated. I saw no reason to relieve him of imagination just yet. It seemed his restless pursuit of other worlds helped stimulate his quests to find hidden treasures, and those treasures were sometimes real.

I had seen St. John dart off into his favorite spot, but he seemed to do so without supervision. I had given Sophie the afternoon off. I thought Adele had been with him, but it seemed that she and Finley had separated themselves from the group. Edward noticed this as well.

"It seems Adele and young Finley have been spending a bit of time together."

I observed them as they walked around the garden, so deep in conversation that it hardly seemed the frolicking children existed to them. "I would say they are fond of each other," I observed cheerfully.

Edward did not seem pleased. "Do we know what Finley's intentions are? He is known to be a bit of a rogue. I hope he isn't toying with Adele."

I was touched by Edward's concern for her. He had once ignored and resented Adele. While he had never managed to summon full fatherly feelings for her, he had grown fond of her and more concerned with her welfare over the years. "He is mischievous, as Mary has told us many times before, but he is no scoundrel. He has been working rather earnestly at the bank of late, and with his mathematical skills, it is thought he could go far if he continues to apply himself."

Edward was not convinced. "But will he?" he asked. "If he is not willing to settle down and be serious with his life, then he should not be courting Adele's affections."

I countered, "Perhaps meeting the right girl will be all it takes for him to settle down completely. Maybe he has always been so carefree because he has never had a reason not to be."

Edward still was not convinced. He simply stared out at the garden discontentedly. I tried to soothe him. "Edward, I would be more than happy to speak to Adele. I will tell her not to lose her heart too quickly and stay on her guard. She should demand to know this young man's intentions."

Edward softened. "I am glad that you will do that. Mind that she listens you lest she does whatever she wants anyway. Young ladies are like that. They know exactly what's right, but that doesn't mean they will do it. They follow their hearts and not their consciences."

I laughed to think Edward would say such a thing to me. "Well, not all of them do. Some young ladies will do exactly what's right no matter what their hearts tell them."

He smiled then. "You are very right about that," and gently squeezed my hand.

I added, "I remember Mrs. Fairfax telling me that she had once wanted to warn me about you. She said she had noted your marked preference for me and wanted to put me on my guard. She never said it to me because she was afraid I would be shocked and offended at the suggestion of any impropriety. I hope that Adele will take no such offense."

His surliness could not help by dissipate now. He became jovial again. "Mrs. Fairfax should have said something to you. You were not on your guard and your almost became the mistress of one of the most notorious rascals Thornfield has ever seen."

I laughed. "Indeed. Look what happened. I married him instead."

We both laughed now. Edward glanced quickly around the garden to make sure no one was watching us and then quickly drew me to him and kissed me. "I'm very glad you did," he said affectionately.

I made up my mind to talk to Adele that night. At that very moment, it seemed more important to make sure St. John hadn't wandered far off while she was so happily distracted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 - 2012**

My hands trembled for no reason as I brought the ancient book to the table and opened it. Sure enough, as Ben had predicted, there was a family tree hand written on the inside of the pages. I carefully unfolded it.

"We really should get some archival gloves to handle this," Ben said.

I ignored him. I was almost in a trance. I looked at the top of the page. The ink was quite faded, but I could still make it out. The family tree started with my great-great-great-great-grandparents.

_Edward Fairfax Rochester_

_Born 1798_

_Died 1873_

_Married _

_Jane Eyre_

_Born 1818_

_Died 1885_

That was all I knew. Her name had been Jane Eyre. I wondered if she was the J. Rochester whose signature was at the bottom of those drawings. I suppose they must have been.

The next line had their children. I was not surprised to see my great-great-great grandfather in the next generation.

_St. John Eyre Rochester -Married Olivia Rose Granby _

_Born 1840_

_Died 1920_

_Edward Fairfax Rochester II (Teddy)_

_Born 1843_

_Died 1845_

How sad! I thought. There was a boy who died as a toddler. I suppose it wasn't uncommon in those days.

_Helen Diana Rochester - Married Willam Eshton Smythe_

_Born 1846_

_Died 1922_

Well, at least they soon had another baby to replace him and she lived a good long life.

The family tree stopped two generations later when it seemed to run out of space. I was fine with that as I knew who my great-grandparents and grandparents were. My family must have truly thought themselves lucky that there was a male child in every generation to carry on the name, inherit the property, and carry on the line of succession. It's too bad this ended with me. I was an only child and the last of the Rochesters of Thornfield. At least I was allowed to inherit it at this point in history.

My curiosity was riled up at this point. In the ensuing days I found myself carefully opening those boxes of old letters and portfolios and registers that lined the library shelves. I could not get enough of my family history. I had been expecting the summer to be endlessly dull, punctuated by occasional trips to London, as I waited out the time until I could return to school. Now I was finding it the most fascinating place on earth.

I found a letter that was so fragile it nearly fell apart in my hands, so faded that I could barely read it. What I could make out is that someone was communicating to Jane Rochester that someone named St. John Rivers had died of fever in India. The letter was dated 1839, which would explain why she named her son, born a year later, St. John. I was able to find letters from St. John himself. It seems he was her cousin and was a very religious man, a missionary, which is why he was in India. He seemed to be aware of his impending death as one of his letters ended with the phrase, "Amen, come Lord Jesus." A little creepy, but I guess it meant a lot to Jane.

Ben began inviting me on his walks in the neighborhood. I learned so much seeing my home through his eyes. I had once thought his work quite dull. Now I found it fascinating as he began pointing out the various architectural features and history of the cottages, buildings, and churches. I had new objects to sketch every day. I began taking photographs alongside him as I saw new artistic subjects. Ben was surprised as an aspiring artist that I had taken so little interest in architecture, but you never really take an interest in the stuff you see your entire life.

One day we found ourselves wandering through the graveyard at the Hay church. I saw the massive tomb of Damer de Rochester and his wife Elizabeth. I could not pull my eyes from the dates. "Can you imagine this, Ben" I asked. "I'm only trying to search my family history back to the nineteenth century. Imagine just how much further I could go."

"You could find out a lot if you devoted your time to it," he said.

"I don't have that kind of time," I responded. "I'd much rather sketch this grave than learn about who is in it." I sat down and pulled out my sketch pad.

Ben was taking some notes and photos. I began musing. "It's funny how many generations have centered their lives at this church. Think about it. Even if you're not religious (and God knows I'm not) so many events happen at your church. You have weddings and christenings and holidays - and funerals. I suppose this church has more history than my home."

Ben shrugged. "I'm Jewish," he said. I was beginning to annoy him with my chatter as he was more absorbed in his work, but I needed someone to talk about this with.

"Temple?" I suggested.

"My family wasn't religious. We didn't belong to a temple."

"Do you ever wonder about your family history?"

He seemed truly annoyed now. "I know most of my great-grandparents immigrated to the United States right before World War II. They were extremely lucky and that's what I care about the most. Part of the reason people live in the United States is because they wanted a fresh start. They wanted to escape history."

"But why?" I asked naively.

He continued. "If your family is from Europe, you probably came to America to escape desperate poverty or religious persecution or political persecution. Ditto if you're Latino. If you're Native American your family history is all about genocide and forced relocation and resettlement. If you're black, your history is about slavery. Maybe Sarah, there are things we would all rather forget."

"Or maybe if you don't know it, you're doomed to repeat it as the old saying goes."

He just snorted and went back to his work.

I couldn't seem to stop myself from discussing it further. "Does your family do all kinds of strange things that you can't really explain because you have always done them?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well that proves my point that nothing is ever really lost," I said. "That's what I keep telling myself anyway."

Trying to shut down the conversation completely, Ben turned his back to me once more and began examining the church door.

I continued my rambling. "Isn't it funny how so many biographers have written about St. John Rochester, but no one ever bothered to talk about his family? All they ever say about his childhood is that he had an eye for curiosities at a young age."

Ben's silence continued. I returned to my sketch pad.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 - 1845**

Christmas at Moor House! St. John was very excited to leave Thornfield and see his cousins in the north. The house was full to bursting this year with family as Edward and I came with St. John and Adele and Diana came with her family as well. Although it sometimes felt confining for the children in inclement weather when they were all trapped inside, the adults never tired of each other's company.

Mary and Charles had the somewhat unexpected presence of young Finley. No one should have truly been surprised knowing that he and Adele had been writing to each other while she was away at school. I was pleased that we were often confined indoors where Edward and I could keep an eye on them.

St. John was the most restless because of his strong will to always go exploring. He would often simply wander the house always saying he was looking for treasures. I could only hope he wouldn't turn the house topsy-turvy and drive Hannah mad cleaning up after him. Mary loved the little boy though and was more often amused than annoyed.

When St. John was first born, Mary and Diana were both surprised I had named him after their brother, especially as St. John Rivers and I had not parted on the best of terms. It did seem an odd choice, but St. John Rivers was not a man given to long and unchristian grudges. St. John had seen himself how a lifelong quarrel could do serious injury to family ties and family fortunes as evidenced by his father's quarrel with our Uncle John. He wrote to me often while in India. He never mentioned Edward or my marriage, but he always spoke kindly and recounted his many efforts to save souls. His death had left a hole in my heart. I truly wanted my son to one day have my cousin's devout faith and heroic spirit.

One evening we were invited to Vale Hall by Rosamond Granby and Mr. Oliver. We were very pleased to see them and see Rosamond's new baby. Mr. Oliver doted on his granddaughter as he had doted on his daughter. It was plain to see he feared that Rosamond and Freddy might experience the same problems having children that he and his wife had encountered. Rosamond and Freddy were happy enough with little Olivia, but there was an unspoken wish in the air that they might continue to have more, particularly a boy who could inherit his father's title and grandfather's business.

Rosamond had lost none of her beauty over the years and she could still charm every man in her presence. St. John seemed to take a particular interest in her. He seemed to have a little boy's crush on his mother's adult friend, just as his namesake had. When forced to confront the reality that Rosamond already had a husband, he decided to turn his attentions to young Olivia. He could spend an hour standing over her crib, trying to make her laugh. Edward, Rosamond, and I had observed them together and Edward remarked, "Could we have a match on our hands?" I supposed that Rosamond would wish for someone handsomer than a Rochester, although I did not say so out loud. I simply said to Edward, "Only time will tell."

After the cheerful weeks at Moor House, Edward and I had to reluctantly return home and and Adele had to return to school. I was pleased we had the chance to be away, for I would not be able to travel again for some time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 -2012**

Although Ben didn't share my passion for learning family history, I found myself wanting to probe his mind a bit more.

We were sitting in the library the next day. I had been looking at some more sketches and portraits from Jane Rochester. I was puzzling over some pictures of a beautiful young woman, at various ages, whose name was Adele according to the titled portraits. Who was she and how did she fit into my family history?

Ben was looking at some photos he had taken of old cottages on his laptop and cataloging them. Ben cared little for family histories, but he seemed awfully concerned about buildings. I told him so.

"Do you ever think that buildings talk to us just as much as those old letters you look at do? Buildings are a reflection of the values and the culture they were built in. They give us clues about the available technology. I guess you could say I'm looking at a macro perspective and you're looking at the micro."

I considered this. "I guess it's like what you said about how Thornfield is so very Victorian while the old Thornfield was meant for something different."

Ben laughed. "I didn't think you actually paid attention when I said that and I didn't think you'd remember it." He continued on. "You said Thornfield was meant to house happiness. Maybe that's what the builders had in mind. They had something else entirely in mind when the original Thornfield was built."

He was not finished with his lecture. "Buildings speak to us and they speak to each other. They influence each other. Cultures borrow from each other. Different eras take inspiration from each other. You should understand that. Art is no different. Artists just speak with a different medium. You of all people should know that."

"You're right," I said. "I suppose I spend so much time in my own world of drawing that I don't pay much attention to how other people have inspired me or what messages other artists are giving me." I realized something then. "You seem to be the opposite though. What are you building?" I asked. "You're spending too much time looking at other people's work and I have seen no designs from you."

I was afraid he would be offended by this, but he didn't seem too ruffled. "I'm working on a special project right now."

"To think of what we learned from the buildings and art that Sir St. John discovered," I mused, changing the subject.

A few weeks ago my eyes would have glazed over at the mere initiation of a conversation like this. Now I found everything Ben told me to be fascinating. I loved his passion for the subjects. I hung on his wisdom and insight. I wanted to spend as much time in his presence as possible.

Suddenly the thought entered my mind like a flash of lightning. Was I in love with Ben? Could I be? How could I possibly have a relationship with Ben? Can a relationship between a straight-laced, middle-class, nerdy American intellectual and a purple-haired, arty, daughter of British gentry possibly happen, let alone survive?

I knew I couldn't deny it though. I loved spending time with Ben. This nuisance, this intruder in my home, had become my best friend in a matter of weeks. I loved to hear him talk about his theories on art and history and architecture. His passion enthralled me. I also found myself drawn to his soft hazel eyes and thick wavy hair. I normally didn't go straitlaced types, but Ben was becoming beautiful to me.

I thought of Jane and Edward Rochester. Had she really been a governess? Thornfield was referred to colloquially as "The House the Master and Governess Built" among the folks in the village and our household staff. Mum did not like that at all. She felt these were just romantic stories. Despite my digging deeply into the family archives, I had yet to prove her wrong. Seeing how different I was from Ben, I wanted to prove her wrong more than ever before. Two people can come from different worlds and still fall in love, couldn't they? Did Ben see anything special in me, or was I just a frivolous girl he had to put up with while he studied architecture in the English countryside?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 – 1846**

Summer returned once more to Thornfield and once again brought our family back to us. Adele was finished with school and had joined us permanently at Thornfield. Edward was wary of that situation, wishing she might find some occupation or a husband. I was beginning to think the latter was quite possible as she and Finley continued to write to each other and once again he decided to join his brother on their visit.

Diana and Mary arrived on a pleasant summer afternoon while I was in the library with Adele and St. John, attending to my newest duties. They arrived in the great hall and came bursting through the library doors. Their husbands followed, powerless to contain their eagerness. The children were more enthusiastic, looking for St. John and hoping for some excursions in the gardens although I had given them notice that we were all to sit down to tea first. Finley and Adele immediately greeted each other with shy smiles.

"Jane, you look beautiful," Diana said as she approached and kissed me. "You truly look so glowing and happy."

Mary came forward and kissed me as well. "Diana, that's all well and good that Jane looks well, but let's talks about more important matters. Where is the baby?"

I walked to small cradle we kept in the library so we could have the baby with us while we worked or gathered in the library. I carefully lifted my sleeping daughter from it, kissed her head, and inhaled her scent.

"This is Helen," I said. "Come greet your new cousins, Helen." The baby opened her eyes and looked curiously at Diana and Mary. Thomas, Charles, Finley, and all of the children gathered around her to look.

I had named my child after my dearest friend from childhood. I had hoped my daughter would have many of my friend's qualities: faith, courage, kindness, steadfastness. Unlike her namesake, she seemed to be enjoying robust good health. I was so pleased to have her so healthy after the loss of my frail and sickly Teddy.

We all noticed that the room was still missing a presence. Before anyone could ask for his whereabouts, Edward entered the room.

"Good Day, everyone," he joyfully exclaimed. He walked over to Helen and me and gently kissed Helen's forehead. "I see you have met our daughter."

There were exclamations on all sides about what a beautiful baby she was and how quietly she sat in company. "Of course she's a good girl," Edward said. "She has an excellent brother to teach her how to behave." H e placed his hand on St. John's head and drew the boy to him. St. John did not shrink away. He was growing more accustomed to his father's appearance and behavior just as Edward was developing more tenderness with children.

"Everyone, let's all sit down to tea and we can all talk and let Helen rest a bit.

I rang for the tea to be served and everyone sat around the great table.

It was times like these that I could not believe my good fortune. When I was a child and a young woman I had believed that I would live a solitary life of servitude and poverty. Now here I was the mistress of a beautiful home, joyfully married, with two beautiful children, and a large circle of family. I thanked God for the many blessings he had bestowed upon Edward and me. We had weathered many tragedies and difficulties in our lives, but we had been given so much in return.

I looked at my children. I hoped that they too would find peace and happiness throughout their lives at Thornfield. I wished them the love and happiness that Edward and I had found. I even thought to the future and hoped that their children and children's children and all generations of Rochesters to come would know Thornfield as a house of happiness. I hoped that none of our stories would ever be lost.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 - 2012**

My research was beginning to prove exactly what I didn't want to know. Mum seemed to be correct. I found some old accounts showing an inheritance from a John Eyre in Madeira to Jane Eyre in England. So my great-great-great-great grandmother was not from Madeira, but she had inherited money from there.

My romantic dreams seemed shattered. The inheritance seemed to come before her marriage to Edward Rochester. Thornfield was rebuilt a couple years later. Clearly Edward Rochester had married Jane Eyre for her fortune to help him rebuild his ancestral home. Looking at Jane's portrait, she was so unremarkable looking, I think that maybe she only had her money to recommend her.

I tried to imagine that somehow things were different. There had been almost no portraits or drawings of Edward Rochester in Thornfield. I found only one drawing in one of Jane's portfolios that almost looked like a caricature. He was a barrel-chested man with black hair and a patch over one eye. He wore a black glove on one hand. He did not look like any big prize. Maybe his marriage to Jane was a case of there being "someone for everyone". Why would Jane marry someone bloke with one eye who was twenty years older than she was if all he wanted was her money?

It was an twilight on an August evening. I was sitting on the window seat in the library while Ben sat at the table. Since I had discovered the truth about Jane Eyre and her inheritance, I had withdrawn from him somewhat. Hope, permanence, extraordinary romance - those things all seemed rather foolish. I was starting to think it was time to touch up my mousy brown roots, go back to school, and lose myself in the ever changing world of art. I wanted to forget about Thornfield, architecture, my family history, and most especially Ben himself.

I had yet to give up on my research completely though. I still was quite curious about the mysterious Adele, the pretty girl who showed up in portraits in Jane's portfolios. I found some of her old letters to Jane. I opened it cautiously, not knowing what to find.

_January 25, 1847_

_Dear Madame Rochester,_

_I want to thank you and Monsieur Rochester for granting Finley permission to ask me to marry him. I have accepted him. I know you and Monsieur were unsure of his intentions -I remember how you tried to talk to me about staying on my guard - but you can see now his intentions are quite honorable. He loves me very much and is working hard at the bank to make sure we have a home._

_We plan to marry at the end of the summer. From there we will settle in London. I do hope that we will continue to be welcome at Thornfield and at Moor House when we miss our families. We would like to have the wedding at Thornfield if you would allow it._

_Cherie Madame Jeanette, I hope that I can be as happy are you and Monsieur Rochester. Even when you were my governess I remember seeing the two of you together and thinking that there was something special about how Monsieur Rochester looked at you and talked to you. I was too young to understand it, but I see it now. I knew I would accept no less from the man I would marry, and I hope you believe that Finley truly honors and loves me._

_Please write soon and let us know if you approve of our plans. I will be coming for a visit before the summer starts._

_Much Love,_

_Adele _

I let out out a gasp as I read this. "Oh my god!" I exclaimed.

Ben looked up from his laptop. "What is it?"

"This letter," I said. "From Adele Varens. It says that Jane was a governess. She was Adele's governess."

Ben came over to the window seat and gently took the letter from me. "You're right. Adele names Jane as her governess right here. Do you know who Adele was?"

"I suppose she was Edward's daughter. Perhaps we was widowed young and he hired Jane as the governess since he couldn't raise Adele himself. I suppose once she inherited the money from her uncle in Madeira, she was no longer a lowly governess and was free to marry him."

I pulled out another letter from Adele.

_July 16, 1848_

_Dear Madame Rochester,_

_All is well in London, but we are very happy to come to Thornfield next month and come away from the crowds. This will be the last time we can travel for quite some time._

_You see, I have good news. I am going to have a child in January. We are so excited to welcome a new member of the family. _

_As a child I missed Maman greatly, but I was a very lucky little girl to have you as my governess. For many years I wished that you and Monsieur Rochester had been my mama and papa. Even though Monsieur Rochester did not seem to like me very much when I was small, I still realized he took good care of me and that he sent me you. _

_You and Monsieur Rochester have seen to it that I did not grow up wanting anything. I see how much you love and care for St. John and Helen. I hope that I can be as good to my child as you have been to all three of us._

_I look forward to seeing you in August._

_With Much Love,_

_Adele_

Adele was not Edward's daughter. Her presence at Thornfield was still a mystery. It seems she was a girl he took care of. I suppose I would never know for sure. Still, the second letter was confirmation that Jane Rochester met Edward when she was working for him.

I don't think I realized I was crying until I felt Ben gently wipe a tear from my face. I was so overwhelmed with emotion.

"Hey," he said. "What' the matter."

"Nothing," I replied. "Everything is perfect."

I still didn't know everything about Jane and Edward Rochester, but I knew everything I needed to know. Jane had gone from governess to heiress to devoted wife. Edward had been in love with her all along even though he was twenty years older than she was. They were a happy and loving couple and were good parents. This wasn't a romantic tale. This was real. That's what I said to Ben. "It was real. All of it was real. Mum was wrong. The old stories are right."

Ben put his arm around me. "All that work you did this summer did some good. You found what you wanted." He smiled and gave my shoulders an encouraging squeeze. The gesture was brotherly. I didn't want a brother.

I looked at him seriously. "You know I never believed in permanence. My great-great-great grandfather was a famous archaeologist and I still believed that most things in life were lost in the past. I didn't believe in immortality for anyone but the extremely lucky. I didn't believe in love."

"And now," Ben asked.

I smiled at him genuinely. "Now I believe anything is possible. Maybe nothing is ever really lost. It's just misplaced."

Ben laughed. Then he pulled me closer and kissed me. I think we were both surprised by the gesture, but once he did it, we both knew it was exactly right. "I hope you keep believing. Believe in yourself most of all." He kissed me again. This time neither of us was surprised.

He pulled me close and we sat on the window seat together, not talking but simply enjoying being together as we had been meant to be all along. I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me, how much he had shown me over the summer, but I felt the words didn't really need to be spoken. Not now.

I looked out the window as stars began to appear in the sky. I had superstitious thoughts that maybe they contained the souls of my ancestors. I imagined that Jane Rochester was looking down on me, giving me her blessing, and that she approved.


End file.
